Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
My heart misses a beat when a lazy smile creeps across his handsome face. “That’s fine…”
“McKayla,” I fill in when he leaves his greeting hanging open as widely as Milo did the door.
He stuffs a song sheet into his backpack while replying, “McKayla. Right. We have…”
“Three classes together. Have for the past six months.”
“Three?” His eyes widen as his mouth gapes in surprise. “I didn’t realize we had any mutual collaborations.”
Ouch.
“Yeah… ah… that’s most likely my fault. I’m a real head-down, bum-up girl.” I shoot daggers at Milo when his chuckles vibrate through my chest. I meant the hard-work metaphor. Not the dirty manner he took it as. “Work. I pay attention to the work.” I lower my voice to barely a decibel. “I don’t thrust my butt in the air. Ever.”
I begin to wonder if Gabriel heard my mumbled comment when he twists up his face before making an excuse to leave. “I have to… ah… go.”
“Sure. Okay. Um. Have a great day.”
He mumbles out a thanks before he gallops down the bleachers with more eagerness than Milo used to climb them.
He is barely out of earshot when Milo hisses out with a laugh, “Do you need ice? Or will you take that burn like the hard worker you are?”
“It went okay. It wasn’t too awkward.” I stumble on my last word when Gabriel’s eyes lift to me before he darts through the doors of the gymnasium. He isn’t sneaking a final glance before riding off into the sunset. He’s making sure I’m not following him. “I think I scared him.”
Milo’s quiet chuckles switch to howls of laughter. They rumble through the oddly quite space, only weakening when I murmur, “When and where?”
Chapter 3
Cash
“He shoots. He scores.” The ends of my hair tickle my collarbone when I step back so a pair of stinky socks flying past my nose don’t hit me in the face. They land in a hamper partway down the hallway of a co-ed dorm before their owner twists his torso to face me. “Did you see that, Milo? An easy three-pointer.”
Since my smirk is half its strength, only one side of my mouth tilts higher. “If only the hoop were three feet tall. Then you’d never miss, Reynolds.”
Reynolds has been training with the South Harmon Hawks for the past three semesters. He can’t shoot for shit, he’s shorter than my armpit, and since he smokes a pack a day, he barely lasts ten minutes on the court before demanding to be subbed.
If he could jump, his attitude would make him a good defender, but since his legs appear the weight of concrete, he’s been on water-boy duty longer than I’ve been playing for South Harmon.
After accepting my grapple with only the slightest sneer, Reynolds stands on his tippytoes to throw his arm around his shoulders, then he strays his eyes down the dirty, almost empty hallway. “What are you doing in this part of the campus, Milo? Your girls are usually a little more… refined.”
That’s his way of saying snobbish. I have a type. Well, I did. The past six months I’ve been riding solo. It’s been better than predicted, but that’s all set to change now.
Playing the part I signed on for three days ago since I’m desperate for a passing grade, I say, “I have a date.”
“Date date? Or date date?” He says each ‘date’ differently, but they all point in the same direction. Am I here to hookup or break someone’s heart?
“A date date. McKayla doesn’t seem the type for the other date.” Realizing I am demoralizing the very thing that got her to agree to tutor me, I quickly backtrack. “Although I don’t see that being an issue for too long.”
I do a hand movement that should bring up my ick level, but it has Reynolds acting the opposite. “Smooooth, man. Teach me your ways.”
“I might if you point me in the direction of McKayla Jones’s room. She said level two, but I missed the room number.”
He screws up his nose, his expression lost. “Ah… I might have to get back to you on that one. I’m not familiar with the level-two girls.” I’m pleased my ruse won’t be ruined by appearing as if I’m slumming it with the water boys’ leftovers until he tacks on. “I’m still making my way through the level-one hotties.” When someone shouts his name from the far end of the corridor, he returns his eyes to mine and cocks a brow as if to ask, can you take it from here?
“I’m good, man. I’ll see you at practice.”
He pats my back before racing through the mostly untread hallway.
After climbing the stairs to the second level, I scan my eyes down the doors. Some have names scribbled across whiteboards, and others have flags and their pronouns dangling from necklaces on the door handles, then a handful of doors have bland numbers.